


Dust Yourself Off And Try Again

by RobinPlaysTrumpet15



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 19:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18597481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15
Summary: Everything seemed so much colder in the twenty first century. Steve wasn't sure he liked it. And he liked it even less without Bucky there. He risked everything to make the world a better place, and he can't quite tell that it mattered even a little. Things are happening too fast and all at the same time. With everything he fought for and loved gone and nearly out of reach forever, what's left for Steve to do?This is a rewrite of What Can I Do But Try (Without You)Rating and Warnings subject to change.





	Dust Yourself Off And Try Again

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Can I Do But Try (Without You)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7448296) by [RobinPlaysTrumpet15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinPlaysTrumpet15/pseuds/RobinPlaysTrumpet15). 



> Hey guys! So, with Endgame coming out freaking tomorrow (oh my god, my heart is not ready), I've been thinking. My story of What Can I Do But Try (Without You) did extremely well a few years ago, but a lot has happened in the MCU since then. I decided to reread it for myself, and since I have grown as a person and as a writer, I thought "I can do better." So here's this! I hope you like it!
> 
> *Also, quick note: I did not notice that I used Chris Evans' last name for the doctor in the first scene until I was posting this story and it was completely unintentional.

“Call Director Fury.”

“Are you sure? It’s six in the morning, he’ll be here in-”

“Call. Director Fury.”

“Yes, sir.”

*

“Why the hell am I here two hours early?” Fury demanded, sweeping into the newly off limits medical bay.

The head doctor working on the Cap Assignment hurried forward, intercepting him before he could even fully enter the room. Fury was pretty sure his name was Evans.

“We were running tests and uh-”

Evans looked frazzled, a little freaked out.

“Spit it out, Evans.”

“His hormone levels weren’t testing correctly. We had to do a little digging, but once we did… well…”

The man gestured for Fury to follow, turning away and leading him over to a few monitors. There were charts and graphs and test results cycling through on three of them. The largest had a file pulled up.

Along the top was the word ‘classified’ in big, bolded red letters. Below that was the name Rogers, Steve. Two files were displayed side by side, one of them with an old grainy photo from the 40s and another with a quick candid of their no longer frozen discovery.

The files, while about the same person, looked nothing alike. Then Dr. Evans clicked around for a second, closing the newer file and displaying one that looked more like the older one.

Fury didn’t see a difference right away.

“And I’m looking at…?” he prompted.

“His personal information was changed back in ‘44. Steve Rogers wasn’t an alpha,” Evans explained.

Fury’s gaze wandered down to the ‘gender’ line.

**OMEGA MALE**

“They changed his records,” Fury stated for the room at large.

Dr. Evans nodded. “Other reports we found in the file detail how he was put on suppressants and his official documents were changed. It was called a ‘security measure’, probably to keep him out of harm’s way in the army. Very few omegas enlisted during that time because-”

“Yes, I know,” Fury waved a hand at him. He didn’t need a history lesson.

He surveyed the files again for good measure before closing them.

“Tell me this isn’t why you called me in here at six in the morning.”

He was given a very quick shake of the head. Evans stepped up to the screens again, sifting through his assortment of test results. He finally found whatever it was he wanted and brought it up on the biggest screen.

“No. Once we discovered this, we had a few more tests to run to make sure he was healthy. And one of them came back positive.”

“Which test would that be?”

“A pregnancy test.”

The entire room stopped. Or it felt like it to Fury. He’d heard a lot of things in his day, and everything had only been getting weirder since that incident in the 90s… But this? This was a new one. They’d found Captain America, frozen in ice in the Arctic and brought him back just to find that he was still alive. Not only that, but he was an omega, a fact that had been buried and covered up by the army and the SSR, and now… Now they find he’s pregnant.

“We had really only been trying to do some blood work on him and found his hormones to be off again. We ran the test and…” Evans seemed to be waiting for Fury to say something.

He could hardly think of anything.

“How is this possible?”

“Oh, uh… well- We’re not really sure-”

“Can you tell how far along he is?”

“About… four weeks?”

Fury turned a questioning glare on the doctor. That didn’t add up. They’d only just found him no more than a week ago. Unless…

“Are you telling me he went into the water pregnant?”

Evans swallowed. He gave a slow nod.

“Yes… Yes, that is what I’m telling you.”

The director could only stare at the man, completely shell shocked.

“Who the _hell_ knocked up Captain America?”

*

Steve wasn’t sure he liked it here. Everything seemed too cold. Distant. All the clothes people wore now looked funny and all the male alphas seemed like emotionally constipated robots. Sure, there had been alphas back in his time who seemed cold, but a lot of them weren’t like that. Or at least, they hadn’t been like that in the army. Bucky certainly never had been.

Bucky…

Steve flipped over again in his bed, the urge to punch something crawling down his arm. His hand clenched into a fist.

It felt like it wasn’t that long ago… Not that long ago that Steve could look at him and smile, mutter something under his breath to get the alpha to laugh. He remembered looking at him and thinking _this could be it, huh_ and then… Then the train. The mountains. The blast that ripped apart the side of that train car.

And maybe if Steve had been faster or if he’d reacted sooner, maybe Bucky would still be-

Well… maybe he wouldn’t be. Steve wasn’t in his own time anymore, was he? He was stuck here in the twenty first century, nearly seventy years after he’d flown that damn plane straight into the ground. In all reality, Bucky might realistically not still be alive right now. But perhaps if he’d been saved… things could have worked out differently.

Steve might not have had to crash the plane. Maybe Steve could have disarmed the bombs and landed the plane and he could have gone home with Bucky and all the others on VE-Day and-

Maybe he could have found out he was pregnant all on his own. No tests from doctors, no ice, no comas, no nothing. Just found out and been able to tell his mate. Look Bucky in the eye and tell him he was going to be a father. Like he’d always wanted. Like they’d tried before.

And god, they’d tried.

But Steve wasn’t… strong enough, wasn’t healthy enough. He’d been pregnant. Twice, even. But the first time he hadn’t really realized until he woke up bleeding. The second time…

Steve didn’t like to think about the second time.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pressing darkness around him. He supposed he could open the curtains, but the thought of moving made him a little sick to his stomach. It probably wasn’t morning sickness. He’d asked. The doctor said it might be, but it often started around six weeks. And, yeah, he was about at five weeks (more like sixty seven years), but he just knew this feeling was different.

Steve had wanted a baby so bad. Still did, if he was being honest with himself. But not without Bucky. Not in this time where everything was big and scary and… cold. From what he’d seen of the world from TV and news casts and just overhearing agents talking near him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to bring a child into it anyway. This wasn’t a place for a baby. This wasn’t even a place for Steve.

He wanted to ignore this. He wanted to believe that it was a fluke.

Because if it wasn’t-

If it wasn’t, it was sure one hell of a cruel trick for the universe to play on him. Because _here’s everything you’ve ever wanted but you won’t recognize the people around you or the world you live in_. How sick was that?

The last thing Steve wanted to do was terminate the pregnancy. That wouldn’t happen. Bucky would have wanted this too, and if only for that reason Steve was willing to go through with this. There were others, of course. Steve wanted to be a father, he wouldn’t feel right getting an abortion, stuff like that. But first and foremost, Steve had always wanted to be a good mate. A good omega. And this was what good omegas did for their alphas, present or not.

He’d never had this chance before. But he had it now.

Steve wouldn’t pass it up.

*

He started going to the gym. Or, well, sort of. He went to the boxing/work out area in the basement of the facility he was being kept in. The punching bags were basically his best friends. Not that they had much competition nowadays. Everyone he used to be friends with were dead. Supposedly. He hadn’t bothered to ask and no one had told him otherwise.

Punching something felt good. It relieved some of the tension he carried about in his shoulders and hands. Sure, he’d end up with bruised knuckles for a few hours afterwards, but hey. There are higher prices to pay.

They’d been forcing him to sit down with a therapist once a week or so. The guy seemed alright. He was a beta, which Steve learned was fairly common for people in medical professions. Their scents weren’t quite so potent and their hormones much more level than an alpha’s or omega’s. Plus, they weren’t as prone to the effects of pheromones from others, allowing them to better keep clear heads in crises or the like.

But this guy, his name was Luke Bayers. He’d told Steve that instead of repressing his memories of the war and the train and Red Skull, he should instead allow himself to think about them. That he would heal better if he let himself learn to cope and process openly, rather than never thinking about any of it and pretending it didn’t happen.

Steve liked to think when he was boxing with the defenseless punching bag. And so far, his leather and sand fighting mate hadn’t complained.

He liked to think chronologically. Starting back as a kid, before he’d presented, all the kids who would make fun of him because _there’s no way **he’s** an alpha_ and _I bet if he is an omega, he’ll be the smallest one **ever**_. Because even male omegas are often slightly bigger than their female counterparts. Steve remembers those digs and jibes hurting so much more as a kid. Back when that was his reality. A frail body with a frail immune system. Not good as either an alpha or an omega, even a beta.

There’d been one night. One day where the other kids had been particularly rough with him, particularly mean and biting. Oh, he’d fought back with everything he was worth at the time. Hit and kicked and even bit with Bucky right alongside him. But at night… He’d curled up in his mother’s arms and he’d cried. He’d pleaded with her and the world and whatever God was listening to make him a beta.

Clearly, no one listened. Or No one cared.

Highschool had been worse. When he’d actually presented and had his first heat… It hadn’t been a very bad one. Most omega’s first heats never are. They only last a day or so and it doesn’t come with as much sweating or crying or nesting. The horniness is still there, but teenagers, man. They’d be horny no matter what.

Oh, but Steve had actually cried. Full on _sobbed_. It had been a weekend and it hadn’t been especially hot outside. Bucky had come and stopped by to try and drag him out to find some cute omegas to take on a double date. Steve’s mother had left for work before it had even fully hit him, so Bucky found him curled up in a corner with all the blankets in the apartment (which only amounted to like three). He was shaking and crying and much harder than he would have liked to admit.

He could tell the moment Bucky entered the room, his familiar scent hitting him like a fucking tidal wave. He smelled warm and almost spicy. Something that reminded Steve of pine trees and cinnamon at Christmas time. A stillness had clenched down on him right before a sort hard-soft shiver had wracked his body, leaving him shaking even harder. More tears welled up in his eyes and rolled over down his flushed cheeks.

_“Stevie?”_ Bucky had called gently.

Steve punched the bag before him exceptionally hard.

He’d emerged from his cocoon of blankets just to shout at Bucky and stand up and push him straight out the door of the apartment, slamming it and locking the deadbolt for good measure. Then he’d collapsed against the wood, sliding to the floor and whimpering. Steve couldn’t even remember now when he’d gotten back up.

And to his credit, Bucky never left. He’d stood there, shell shocked outside in the hallway for about a minute before turning back around and trying to reason with Steve through the door.

_“It’s okay”_ and _“You’re alright”_ and _“It’s not a big deal."_

_“It doesn’t matter. You’re still my best guy, Stevie.”_

_“Doll, please?”_

The punching bag swung hard on its chains.

Bucky had called Steve those things before, the terms generally reserved for someone’s significant other. But it had always been playful teasing, friendly, fond. This had been the first time he’d said it with so much _conviction_.

They stayed that way until Mrs. Rogers appeared back from work, several hours later. She found Bucky just sitting with his back against the door, talking idly and humming something she recognized. She had been confused, but upon opening the door and taking one look at her son, the smell of first omega heat hitting her… Well, it was the only explanation she’d needed.

Bucky had been allowed to stay for dinner. Sarah had started cooking, keeping a listening ear out for her children. (Because Bucky might as well have been hers, too.) The young alpha had tried to calm Steve in every way that had always worked before they’d just ended up on the couch together, squished in because Bucky wasn’t quite what you could call “small” anymore. Steve was wrapped up in a blanket, curled into his best friend.

Sarah had watched out of the corner of her eye, smiling to herself over the familiar picture. They’d done that often as kids; small enough then to only take up half the couch. She’d turned, ever so slightly, to watch for a moment, seeing the exact second when Steve shifted just a little bit. His nose pressed into Bucky’s neck and within seconds, he was still.

His breath was even, the tension in his limbs bleeding out.

Steve reeled his arm back and swung it forward as hard as he could. Then the punching bag had broken completely free from its hook and flew across the room. It landed with an almost deafening _thud_ , bleeding out sand onto the workout room’s floor.

He was lucky no one else had been around because even Steve was surprised. He didn’t think he was hitting it that hard. Had he even continued hitting it that whole time?

And, _shit_ , what time was it, anyway?

The clock on the wall ticked past 11:43. It was late. He’d been here… god, over an _hour_ , probably.

He really had to stop losing time like that.

*

Steve had picked up the bag, setting it against a wall and hoping someone would know what to do with it before looking for a broom to sweep up the sand. He couldn’t find one. And as bad as he felt leaving a mess that someone else would have to clean up, he was feeling shaky and wobbly again. And that usually meant it was time to shut down for awhile.

Not sleep, no. He’d slept for almost seventy year. Steve probably couldn’t sleep anymore if he tried.

No, he would go and lay down in bed and stare at the window or the wall for as long as it took for the sun to come back. And then… then he’d get up and go through briefings and meetings and see Dr. Bayers and go hit a punching bag until it broke and flew across the room. Then he’d restart the cycle.

Because it was a routine. And Steve needed one of those right now, trapped as he was in this weird century, no friends, no home, no mate…

With a baby on the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this first chapter of my rewrite! Please let me know what you thought and if you would like to see this continued. And if you happen to be one of the people who read the original of this story, I would greatly appreciate any feedback you have in regards to that and any changes you would like to see in the future. Thanks!


End file.
